Surviving
by Historyexplorer12
Summary: Steve has PTSD. He doesn't think it's a problem until it is. Tony helps him cope. Disclaimer: Marvel isn't mine! Warnings: eventual Stony, M/M, TRIGGER WARNING: PTSD, rated T for safety, possible OOC characters
1. Chapter 1

**AN: New Story! Yay! Just wanted to warn everyone that there is a trigger warning on this for PTSD just to be safe. Enjoy!**

Steve didn't usually have trouble in this new world, this new life he had made for himself. Sure, he missed Bucky, and Peggy, and certain things about his old life, but at least he wasn't sick all the time, and there was a group of people he could rely on, not just himself or Bucky, like it had been back in his old life. At least he felt like he belonged.

There were setbacks occasionally, of course. The Avengers, as they had come to be known, were a band of misfits at best. But maybe that's why they each complimented each other so well, and worked well together as a unit. Those times where they fought though, Steve became agitated and nervous, but he could usually say he needed to go for a run and no one questioned him. They each had their own demons. They each coped with them in their own ways. They understood.

But sometimes it was so bad he could only shut himself away and pray. Pray for the monsters in his own head to stop yelling so loud, pray for his old time, pray for death. There was a term for it now, what he had. PTSD, it was called. Post Traumatic Stress Disorder. He had seen it in the forties as Shell Shock, but no one called it that anymore. And he knew he could get help, if he wanted. But he didn't want help. He was Captain America, for gosh sakes. A super soldier. He could handle his own thoughts, his own mind.

Until one day he couldn't anymore.

It was just after breakfast, and he and Tony were cleaning up the mess that always came with the Avengers' shared meals. The window above the kitchen sink was cracked open to let in the warm spring breeze of May, and it was through that which Steve was looking back at the clear morning when he heard it.

A gunshot.

"Tony, get down!"

Tony stared down at him from where he stood by the cupboards, drying and putting cups and mugs away. Steve had gotten onto his belly in an army crawl, his hands protecting his head.

"Cap, you all right?"

"They're shooting at us Tony! Get down!"

"Who's shooting at us?" And he stepped calmly and carefully over to the window, standing on his toes to look out. And saw the problem. But he let the question stand, just to test his suspicion.

"The Germans! The Axis! Get down!"

"Cap," he squatted down, to be closer to Steve, his voice careful and soft, "It wasn't a gunshot. A car backfired in the street. We're fine. How'd you hear that anyway? I didn't hear- Ohh… Right. Super hearing. I promise there's no gunshots, though. The war's over. We won, remember? Do you want help up? Let's just sit on the floor a minute, catch our breath," and after helping Steve sit against the lower cabinets, Tony joined him with a crack of each knee and a soft groan. Even the sounds of popping knees made Steve flinch, blue eyes wide and staring at Tony.

Tony didn't say anything for the moment, just let Steve stare at him and feel his presence. Just then, however, Clint and Natasha rushed into the room, fully suited up.

"Avengers assemble? It's go time?" Clint asked, both he and his partner having heard the commotion. Then his face scrunched up in confusion, "Why are you on the floor?"

Tony waved him off, "We just need a minute. No assembly needed. We're good," Satisfied, both of them left, just as confused as before. Tony turned to smirk at Steve, laughing at his own joke, "I've always wanted to say that," and then he noticed the tears in Steve's eyes as he came back to the present. A frown replaced his smile, "Hey, hey. Talk to me, Cap. What's goin' on in that head of yours?"

Steve could only sniffle and close his eyes to try to keep the tears at bay, but failed as two tears ran down his flushed cheeks. He couldn't tell Tony what was wrong even if he had wanted to. The words for the things in his head at that moment wouldn't come out. Bucky. Peggy. Changing into the Super Soldier. The train. Blood. Screaming. Gunfire. Smoke. All cycling through his mind over and over again.

"Do you wanna go talk somewhere safe? Yeah?" As Steve nodded against the hard cabinets weakly, swallowing thickly, "We'll go up to my floor, okay? I don't think being on your floor will help much right now, huh? Ok, let's go. Easy, one step at a time, there you go," with Tony helping to support him, they slowly made it out of the kitchen, across the communal living room where Thor, Clint, and Natasha were on the large couch watching TV, to the elevator. Thor was the first to notice Steve's distress.

"WHO HAS CAUSED YOU PAIN, CAPTAIN? THEY WILL FEEL MY WRATH!" As the hammer began to swing and hum as Thor stood and his cause for distraction caught the others' attention, Tony worked to calm him down.

"Whoa, whoa, Point Break! Nobody hurt Cap. Easy on the hammer- and oh my God, is that lightening?" The way that Steve tightened against his side told Tony that yes, it was, "We're just heading upstairs for a breather. JARVIS, lock access to my floor," and then they were gone, and the elevator whirred as it went up to Tony's floor.

"What was that all about?" Clint asked.

Natasha could only shrug.


	2. Chapter 2

**AN:** **So this story was inspired by several stories like it that I can't find now, or have bookmarked from other sites, where either Steve or Tony comfort the other when they are having trouble. Just so you guys know that I wanted to try something similar to those kinds of stories. I wish I could find the ones I can't find now. Anyway, I hope you enjoy and I'm sorry for any mistakes.**

"Sorry, sorry, sorry. I'm sorry. I'm sorry!" Steve babbled as they exited the elevator and made their way into Tony's private living room.

"Nothin' to be sorry for, Cap. Happens to the best of us. There, sit… I'll get you some water and a blanket. You want a straw? Sometimes sucking on a straw helps me distract myself. Here we go. Now you can just breathe and relax. No one's up here but us. What happened downstairs? Can you explain it to me? I have a pretty good guess, but I want to hear it from you."

Steve shivered, the action more of a reflex than a need and Tony automatically reached out to him, as if to comfort him. He pulled his hand away when Steve looked down into the glass of water that he held between his hands, the water untouched but needed to ground Steve to the present.

Steve was silent a long while before sighing, shivering, and then answering in a whisper, as if afraid, "The gunshot- I mean, the car backfiring… It brought back the past… The war… The guns, the blood, Bucky, Peggy… Getting on the floor, it was a reflex… I was back in the war, in my own time. I couldn't control it."

"Steve, that's PTSD. Do SHIELD's doctors know about this?"

Steve snorted, finally taking a sip of water, "Heck no. I'm Captain America. I'm supposed to be perfect. The serum-"

"Has nothing to do with your mind. It fixed your body, all the cuts, bruises, and broken bones, but it didn't wipe your memories. It can't. Howard's good, but he isn't that good. Do you want help? I've got the best doctors-" Tony stopped when Steve flinched away as if slapped, "You don't want help then."

"I- I won't be Captain America if I get help. I'm the "Star Spangled Man With A Plan," remember? Jeez, I hated that."

"I can't believe you came _this_ close to swearing twice in the last two minutes. That's gotta be a record," Tony chuckled, then was back to be serious, "You really don't want help?"

"I was poked and prodded enough in my old life. I hate when doctors look at me like I'm some guinea pig to experiment on."

"Ah, I understand. Well, what about this? How 'bout I help? The minute you feel bad, you come find me or call me or whatever, okay? Day or night."

"But you need to sleep, and work… I-"

"Sleep, work, bah," Tony waved the worries aside, "Forget 'em."

Next thing he knew he was face-to-face with Steve's "I'm disappointed in you" stare, "You need to sleep, Tony. It's a need. It can't be ignored."

Tony made a face that caused Steve to chuckle. But seeing that shiver of cold and Steve wrapping the blanket more securely around himself, he jumped up, getting an idea.

"I'm making you some homemade hot chocolate. It's about the only thing I can make on my own. My Abuela showed me how."

"Wait, you're part Spanish? Huh…" Steve asked, taken aback by this new information.

"No, I'm not. She was my nanny when I was, like, five years old? I just called her Abuela. I'm surprised you picked up on that. Yes, the word "Abuela" does mean "Grandma" or "Grandmother" in Spanish. Whoa! Hey!" When Steve flung a pillow over the back of the couch in the direction of the open kitchen, which was connected to the living room, "I'm workin' here!" He indicated the ingredients laid out on the kitchen counter.

"Then don't be a smart aleck," Steve quipped in answer, and then his mouth twisted, as if he wanted to ask Tony something.

"I see that look. I don't like that look. What's eatin' you?" Tony asked, working on crushing the cinnamon and then adding the chile powder that would make the drink spicy.

"Nothin'…" His accent slipping into his speech, Steve ducked his head and fidgeted on the leather couch, clearly uncomfortable.

"It's not nothing if you're uncomfortable, Steve. C'mon, what is it?"

"Can- can I join ya?"

"What kind of question is that? This is a free country. It's a free kitchen, for God's sake! Yes, you can come watch me work," although he was only joking and Steve knew it, Tony calmed down when he realized Steve was startled and skittish because of what had happened earlier that day, "Bring the blanket and plop that fine tush of yours up here on a stool at the island. C'mon," he coaxed, "You need more water? Of course you do. Gimme your glass," Tony reached for Steve's still half full glass as Steve settled at the kitchen island.

"Tony," when that did not get the billionaire's attention, Steve tried again, "Tony," and yet again, one last time, "Tony!"

"Jesus Christ on a pogo stick," Tony jumped and then turned away from the sink, preoccupied as he was, "What?"

"You're mothering me."

"I am not!" Tony protested, "Stark men don't "mother."

"You are. But it's okay. I'm okay. I've had these attacks for a while now. I've dealt with them before."

He didn't say anything more, but they both knew the "alone" was implied. Tony decided he couldn't keep quiet about it. He half turned toward Steve as he stirred the hot chocolate constantly, as his nanny had taught him so long ago.

"Alone? Seriously?"

"Yeah," Tony's face twisted in anger, but he said nothing, "Tony?" Steve's voice was so small as he realized his teammate was upset, possibly at him.

"Hm?" Tony turned to him, attentive, and then realized his hot chocolate was boiling instead of simmering like it was supposed to, "Oh shit! Shit, shit…" He fumbled with the oven knobs until the liquid had begun to simmer once more, "There, saved it. Whew!"

"Smells really good. Spicy. Bucky never let me have spicy food. Tried it once and had an asthma attack right on the floor of our little apartment. Scared him silly. Scared me too."

"Well, this might knock you to the floor, but not because of that. Can you grab two mugs from the cupboard? I think it's done. Whipped cream? Marshmallows? Chocolate shavings?" He offered.

"Uh… Whipped cream? Just a little, please. Thank you."

"So polite," Tony grimaced jokingly, "Gonna give me cavities."

"No, I think that mountain of whipped cream melting in your drink has that job covered."

"Did Captain America just bite back? Have I finally succeeded in corrupting America's Golden Boy?" Tony smirked.

"Oh please, like you could corrupt me. The army beat you to it, Tony, sorry. I know more ways to swear than you could say before you died. My momma just raised a respectable boy is all."

Tony scoffed, "Me die? Please, I'm part robot."

Steve laughed as they finally settled back onto the couch, worries and fear apparently forgotten.


End file.
